Chapter 35
“Until death it is all life.”
Miguel de Cervantes
Perhaps it had been cruel to continue their celebrations on a bloody dance floor. Forcing those who would so easily feign the world was no different than before into a slice of their own world. That they had been safe and aligned on the right side of things as if that left him beholden to their whims and moods. He didn’t care. In fact, he was disappointed his enemies only risked two operatives of worth, sending them in with fodder like some sacrificial blood to appease the pair. Most had been apprehended or eliminated long before they’d reached the hall. A distraction to allow the message that had sent his evening into chaos. One he planned to unravel until the bitter end.
Once home, he changed into his black robes while she changed out of that decadent dress for black pants and a black button-down shirt—such a pity. The last thing she wanted to deal with was blood on something colorful. She pinned her hair back higher on her head, containing it so not a wave fell out of place, and then went down to an area of the manor she didn't ever think she'd return to: The dungeons.
There was no point delaying the inevitable. Once he had enough information, he’d be gone, and likely for some time. So when he reached the row of dark rooms ornate with chains and drains to facilitate questioning and holding, he didn't hesitate. Divvied their time between one prisoner and the other. Ensuring they were in just the right amount of pain before beginning in earnest.
“Let’s try this again,” he rolled up his sleeves and neared a bloodied Wood.
Like his uncle, the pair had been healed and then given a draught of despair. Though Wood had tried to fight it, only Rodolphus had seemed…unaffected. As if he’d thrived so long on hopelessness, it was akin to air. He figured it had to do with his years in Azkaban. He hadn’t escaped as unhinged as his wife and yet not quite whole either.
“Your new project. Tell me about it,” he demanded in a firm velvet tone. There was no need to be angry, merely patient. “It’s already dying with you…” he reminded, flicking his wand to break his arm. He’d already lost most of his nails by now, and his hands had been broken in varying degrees. For this transgression, it would be long and slow. “Or perhaps you’d rather experience your own techniques…” he gallantly ceded the floor to his wife.
Stepping out of the shadows at Draco's behest, she pulled on a pair of gloves, watching Oliver all the while.
"You know I could simply dig through your mind. Pull out any and every secret that you have. Might just want to answer my husband's questions." She drawled before, with a flick of her wand, she put pressure on the breaks and made him scream.
Reaching forward, her hand bunched in the wizard's hair and tilted it back so she could look him in the eyes, her mind already pressing into his. Faced with the intimacy of the moment, it became all too clear why she'd worn gloves. She didn't want the man that had tried to make her into a damn broodmare to come into contact with any part of her.
Draco wanted to argue that there wasn’t much fun digging when they could break him first. He’d already gotten a fair share before when he’d first gotten his hands on the man, but this time, there was no reason to cut Oliver Wood loose. Last time, he’d been a strategic sacrifice. Now? He was less than nothing. More anger management than actual prize.
“I’d listen to the lady,” he warned. “Either way, I know I’ll enjoy this…”
"You wouldn't," Wood tried to claim, but his voice sounded cracked. Broken. Filled with that despair from the drought. "Hermione..."
"I do believe I said you didn't get to say my name," she wrenched his head back and flicked her wand, breaking the opposite arm in the same way that Draco had as she glanced over her shoulder at Draco. "Didn't I say that?"
Wood tried not to writhe or squirm. "What did you do to her?!" His accusation shot at Draco rather than Hermione.
She clucked her tongue and, with another flick of her wand, added pressure onto the breaks that made him scream.
“You did,” he answered her and ignored the prisoner. “I may have damaged the part of his brain that handles comprehension last time… “ he taunted. It was best to ignore him, to just let him take in the sight. And what a sight it was to watch his wife unleashing anger.
As much as he wanted to sink a dagger into one of his wounds and twist, he didn’t want to ruin her moment. He had promised Wood to her.
"I thought I did. I do have a rather good memory." She drew a knife from her hip and dragged it down one of his now broken arms without even looking at him, listening to him howl in pain without even flinching as she had in the mirror. He would have taken all of the fight out of her.
Looking back at Oliver, her eyes were cold as ice as she looked him over. "Let's see.....What did he do to me? I don't kiss and tell...But I can guarantee he didn't put things into my drinks. Didn't think I'd make a pretty wife to stay at home and raise children," she spoke with cold fury in her eyes. "So...we can talk about that," she offered before digging the knife in right above a broken bone.
"Or we can talk about what it is you and the others could possibly be planning. Because we both know this can't have been sanctioned...and if Rodolphus gives us more answers than you do? Well. I might agree to let him die quicker than you...Or you could draw this out and die nice and slow."
It was a promise she'd made to Death Eaters before. What they did fear was pain. Prolonged pain that could make the mind shatter. She'd gotten very good at it, along with other interrogation techniques. Even if there were times, it still made her stomach sick. This was not one of those times.
Oliver gawked. His mouth opened and closed. He wanted to counter, to deny, to fight. “This isn’t y-you,” his words were almost a breath. How many times had he reassured her, sated her? This was wrong. All of it was wrong.
Draco scoffed. He didn’t have to go digging to see all those emotions flickering in his features one at a time. The utter devastation.
“I should be thanking you, Wood. You made a better appeal to my request than I could have ever made,” he noted. He’d shared those memories for a reason. Allowed her to see flaws she’d left herself vulnerable to. “I regret not torturing you more,” he bit into the words. But the pathetic excuse for a wizard had had his use. “Now tell me what I want to know, or I’ll watch her until you pass out, and then, we’ll start all over again.”
Raising a brow slowly, she twisted the knife in the wound, keeping that grip on his hair so she forced him to keep his eyes on her. "Not me? Did you forget they had me interrogate Death Eaters? That I had to make sure I was willing to actually do what I said or nothing I did would work? That I ripped into their minds while wielding a curse I've been on the opposite side of more times than I can count? Not me? In Hogwarts, it wasn't me. But for at least six years now?" The laugh that left her was cold. "It's been entirely me."
And part of her hated it. The bookish schoolgirl who was still buried deep down hated how many terrible things she had done. But it helped her survive, and she couldn't regret surviving. Not even at the cost of parts of her soul or her humanity.
"Now, Wood. Answer the question," She drawled as she pulled the knife from his arm, only to look him over as if she were trying to figure out the next best place to stab it in. "We'll start with an easy one. Sanctioned or unsanctioned mission to crash our wedding?"
Wood paled as she spoke, every word visibly tearing into him. Back at Hogwarts he'd never really liked the bookish type, and then the war had shoved them together, and he couldn't quite piece it. She was comfort, the opposite of what he was faced with.
"You know I can't tell you," he responded glumly. "But either way, I'd do it again, only I'd make it in time," he hissed.
This time, it was Draco's dagger that lodged through the man's shoulder, thrown at a distance to pin him to the chair. "And you would have failed," he said flatly. "Answer. The. Lady." He used silent magic to twist the blade.
"Like you couldn't tell me you were dosing my nightcaps? So noble," she drawled coldly as she met his eyes. "More manipulative and cowardly than brave," she muttered as she drew out her knife and wiped it on his shirt right as a blade blew past her and sunk into his shoulder.
She snorted at that and lifted a brow. "This ring was on my finger the morning of our engagement gala. Vows in place. So how would you have made it in time?" She asked as she held up her hand to show the ring, the stones seeming to glow with a light all its own as she let her hand drop. The knife twisting had him groan and she took a step back after letting go of his hair, watching him carefully closer to Draco.
Wood tried not to whimper as he shook his head, teeth gritted. "Unsanctioned...Didn't...d-didn't want you to be one of Malfoy's puppets," he gritted out.
"There's some truth...now how about another? Why were you working with Lestrange?"
"Yes, why has my uncle deserted..." he demanded, taking the space Hermione vacated to replace his magic with his hand.
Even if he wanted to execute the man that had been attached to his aunt, it wasn't that simple. An example would be made, and given who it was, he knew it would be painful not only for him, but for every single marked individual. Fear was one of his master's favorite weapons to wield.
Draco yanked the blade and trailed it down his clavicle and sternum as if looking for the next place to lodge it. "You know, I think I know exactly what to take from you," he murmured, his words almost sultry as he pressed that blade tip harder. "Because you are going to lose...useless parts tonight," he growled, reaching below the other's navel, continuing down.
Wood seemed to kick into gear at the realization. "He was pissed you'd chose her," his tone was nearly a beg. "That you were weakening your side by marrying her. A..." he winced at the word.
"Go on..." Draco encouraged, pausing his blade between the man's legs. "Finish that sentence, I dare you."
Hermione's eyes flared as she stared at him, twirling the knife in her hand as she looked at Wood, making no move to stop him in whatever it was he was doing. "A Mudblood, Wood? Someone tainting the pure Black and Malfoy bloodlines?" The question seemed calm enough, but the hatred and rage in her eyes were there as her hand tightened around the dagger.
"I wouldn't call you that," he pleaded, looking between Malfoy and Hermione like he wasn't sure who the biggest threat was.
"Course you wouldn't. Because you're such a gentleman," she chuckled, the sound devoid of humor. "Who approached who, Wood? And what was your grand plan? Your accomplice was going to get you killed. Perhaps you'd taken one too many bludgers to the head."
Draco didn't bother with a precise blow as he stabbed the man into the chair, his chuckle hanging into the air. "Ah, yes, because that's what it's always been about, hasn't it?" Pulling back, he looked at the mess of a being that called itself a wizard.
She could have at him, but before that, he wrapped an arm around her waist. "Do you see the difference?" he asked Wood without looking at him. "A true gentleman knows how to stand at their witch's side, and from here on out," he pressed a kiss to her inner wrist. "Your fate is in her hands," he kissed her cheek and found his place back on the opposite wall.
This was personal, and though he enjoyed making Oliver Wood cry out to any deity that would listen to try to reach his wife, it was also for her.
She didn't even flinch as the man howled out in pain, and she rolled back the sleeves of her shirt as she looked him over. As soon as his arm wrapped around her waist, she leaned in against Draco for a moment and glanced up at him. As he kissed the inside of her wrist, she smiled a little bit more. "What a lovely wedding gift," she murmured.
Looking over at Wood, she gave a slight nod. "Unsanctioned. Fueled by blood status. Alright. Then tell me what they're up to, Wood."
"I can't-"
Before he could finish that, she dug the knife into one of his breaks again and clucked her tongue. "Wrong answer, Wood."
Leaving the knife in him, she drew her wand and cast the Cruciatius curse, making him scream again for her. Pain. He would be in a world of pain until he opened up and told her what she wanted to know. Any snippets of information that would make it clear that they had actually tortured and interrogated him. So Draco wouldn't come back a bloody mess again.
She was beyond good. Draco would be lying if he didn’t feel oddly aroused by something he’d long since stopped feeling anything for. Violence, gratuitous, limitless violence. He’d given it, lived it, but mostly, it had rung hollow. This. This was more than righteous revenge. And seeing her work, he couldn’t help but feel she’d been holding back.
Screams filled the room, but they might as well have fallen on deaf ears.
“I…” Oliver began as though he still had fight and then his head sagged and his shoulders hunched. He swallowed. “I…” The singular word fell heavily as his thoughts began unraveling—his new position. A new informant was offering inside knowledge of the Death Eaters, but their identity was hidden for this reason exactly.
Her eyes narrowed on him as she looked at Oliver, searching his mind as she worked. Cutting into him, leaving him a bleeding mess. She added magic to the mix, hexes, and curses. And when she cleaned her knives on his shirt, she stood back finally, and almost glowered.
"You got promoted? Trading me and doing a few job runs while I've been here...got you promoted?" She seethed. She tapped the knife against her thigh and could feel that burning rage. A rage she had sometimes felt towards Draco before all of this unraveled. Except it lacked the intrigue that she could admit to herself now that there had been. Damn him.
Looking over at her husband, she shook her head. "They kept their new informant a secret. But someone is telling them about Death Eaters....they kept him out of the loop. Seems someone thought that he might actually do something this...stupid."
Draco nodded. It was all he needed. “You can kill him, or you can leave him… he can be healed… mostly, and hurt as long as you want him to be,” he said. An offer, a promise. He would keep his word with her, not only because of the vows. Hell, Wood could rot in his cell for decades for all he cared.
“Now I have a traitor to deal with,” he sighed. “Not the night I envisioned,” he admitted. He wanted her close, to touch her, to kiss her. If he did, he knew he wouldn’t do what needed to be done.
Killing him would be a nail in the coffin of her past. If she didn't do it, would it reflect poorly on Draco? All of this was a balancing act now. There was no turning back.
Sheathing the dagger, she looked over Wood for just a moment, but before he could beg, she quickly cast the killing curse, watching as his body went limp in a flash of green light. Stepping out of the room, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to Draco's jaw.
"We'll get back to our trip once you handle whatever you need to handle." She offered with a shrug, shutting everything down.
That kiss and that shrug had him pulling her in. "I look forward to it," he nearly growled, clutching her chin to keep her gaze on his. After this, he wasn't sure how he could keep her out of his daily operations. The Dark Lord would glean these memories. He knew as much. And from there, it was anyone's guess how it would unfurl. There was a reason he'd begun with Wood. If he had unleashed her on his uncle, it would have merely appeared as retaliation. He'd expected many things, but not for her to kill him so quickly.
Before he could stop himself, he claimed her lips like it was the only thing that mattered in his very existence. Part of it was praise for what she had done, but most of it was just sheer lust he'd been harboring from the moment he'd walked down that aisle. That dress composed of layer upon layer of translucent fabric that had begged to be unraveled. When he'd given her free reign, he had expected her to succeed but not to excel. To find her place in the viper's nest, poised to strike.
As he pulled her in, she almost stumbled, not expecting him to as he growled those words and met her gaze. It was like he was trying to read her, trying to figure something out. Her brow almost furrowed before his lips were on hers. She kissed him back, almost melting into the kiss completely now. The lust she felt for him, the sparks of attraction, was easy enough to lean into for a moment.
Her fingers brushed along his jaw before she broke the kiss and stepped away. "You'll get distracted," she drawled, almost implying that she wouldn't before she walked towards the stairs. "Let me know when I need to be ready to leave."
Another growl left him. She was right; he would be distracted if he stayed. He hoped she'd be ready because the moment he returned, he had every intention of having his wife.